Hello Devilfish! Read Free Page A

shogun insults and geisha clichés. I know—let’s just pretend everyone talks Manglish. I’m as lazy as fire! Really—this dock I’m wrecking ain’t burning worth shit. And then bingo, it hit me—all I need is wings! Huge stingray wet ones to fan this baby inferno into a metastasized hell. I can haz Dada props? Not from you fuckers—you’re born scared and die confused. And between the natal and omega bread of this greasy death sandwich—you look for meaning . You’d be better off looking for mayonnaise—Hello Devilfish! I giggle at your quandary. At night your over-amped brains sizzle like crude tumors while you grope through memory swamps, gorging on grief like some horrid unripe fruit. Smooshing you fuckers is a big large favor—Hello Panzers! You gotta fight for your Reich to party.

/ 4 /
    Brains are magic tricks done with meat. So watch out, Ms. Librarian! Don’t put my book next to any other ones—I’ll infect them. At night I pulse toxic blue on my dusty shelf—no one’s safe. Not kiddie tomes, not ’tween soft-core, especially not dumb ethnic novels reeking with poverty. Their words hurt my liberty! All freedom is freedom for me —and ain’t that the dream of the twenty-first century? So why am I here—to squash buildings, snort babies, chew grandmas into black drool? Amusing as all that is—I’m here to wipe out books. Erase them completely —make sure none are never nope wrote again. And how might a Devilfish do this? I’ll invade every plot like a wild virus. Every time you read—it’s about me! Grinning and wrecking and chewing stuff. For Whom the Bell Tolls? On Whom the Fish Rolls. Moby Dick ? Moby Gone—now it’s me roiling up that stinky sea! And Ahab’s my love slave, mwah ha ha—dude does some pervy tricks with that whaler peg leg.
    I am Happy Devilfish with an Amazon profile! You got Harlequin romances with steroid dudes and bustier chicks smirking on cheap covers? Wait—what’s that stingray doing in the foreground? And why’s he the bellhop at our assignation hotel? Don’t tip the fucker, he’s pretty clumsy. Eeek, watch out for his stinger—fucko, where’d my arms go—Hello Devilfish! I’m like a chunk of iced radium in your party mojito—hear my pulsing glow? Bzzzrp, bzzzrp—I’ll kill everything. It’s my nature, not my fault, wah. Mwah ha ha—self pity is the key to evil. Poor me is the gist of most pogroms.
    I’m death on a stick—for all your leisure needs. Hello Devilfish! I’m a product for a thing you’re not, you wuss. And you will say to a fey ray—how’s it hanging? Low and inside, my brutha. Hmmm, so what next? I know—let’s have a backstory! First off—what birthed me? Let’s just pretend I leaped from a dead guy’s brain—the same croaked fool who’s name’s on this book. T’was a night riddled with stars and mai tais—the fucker was in his Hawaiian mode back then. He’d moved lock, stock, and Mustang to some barren Kona reef seeking mana and cheap weed. What he really found—besides centipedes, leprosy and meth—was me! Smashing right out of his skull one humid night. He was pacing around his skanky motel room—his mortgage collapsed even faster than his marriage—when I burst through his brain pan.
    â€œWhat the fucko?” he yelled.
    â€œHello Devilfish!” baby me shrieked, “let’s say bad words!”
    â€œYou are not my baby,” he muttered. Then he either drank or watched TV—hah—Mr. Lord of Lit. “Hi, Daddy,” I squirmed around his suitcase, “let’s write taboo memoirs!”
    â€œI could use you,” he narrowed those cagey eyes, “let’s see. A plot about a young guy—no, not too young—”
    â€œExtra bad words!” I chirped.
    â€œMaybe